


Where the lines overlap

by Ischa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, Dreams, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere after the last book. Harry is having weird dreams and the lines between reality and dream begin to blur.</p><p>
  <i>"I'm awake...” he answers.<br/>“You aren’t,” the voice says. He knows that voice. He knows that person, he knows...it's on the tip of his tongue...<br/>“I am...”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the lines overlap

**Title:** Where the lines overlap  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** Set somewhere after the last book. Harry is having weird dreams and the lines between reality and dream begin to blur.  
 _"I'm awake...” he answers.  
“You aren’t,” the voice says. He knows that voice. He knows that person, he knows...it's on the tip of his tongue...  
“I am...”_  
 **Warning(s):** angst, sex and a bit blood-play  
 **Author’s Notes:**  For bryoneybrynn; for no other reason than her being awesome. Title by Paramore.  
 **Word Count:** 1.957  
  **Beta:** asm_z"  
  **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
~One~

 

Harry wakes with a start. For a moment he is disoriented. He blinks, once, twice and focuses on the voice. Someone is talking to him.

“Mister? You listening?” the voice asks. He nods. He listens. “We there,” the voice says. He looks out of the window.

“Right. Thank you,” he answers and the taxi-driver looks at him as if he were somehow mental. He shoves some money in the man's direction, not caring about change, and gets out. The night is moonless and dark. He takes a deep breath. It tastes sweet, like roses. Maybe. He shakes his head. He has no idea why he's here, or where here is. Everything around him looks like it was painted with water colours. The only things that seem real are him and the taxi before and the house he is standing in front of right now. The curtain blows softly with a breeze he can't feel on his skin.

~+~  
“Harry...Harry!”

Someone shakes his shoulder and he opens his eyes. “I'm listening,” he says.

“You are not. You were sleeping. Maybe you should go to bed now,” Hermione says reasonably.

“Maybe you are right,” he admits, yawning. He stretches as he gets up, something makes a funny noise, he supposes it's his back, as he fell asleep in the armchair. He looks at it. Like he has something to remember.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Hermione asks.

“Yes, I had just...a weird dream.”  
She looks at him and he shakes his head again. Since the whole thing with Voldemort she gives him (everyone gives him, to be honest) weird looks when he talks about dreams. So he doesn't. Most of them are normal anyway. This one was...normal as well.

“You sure everything is okay?”

“Yes, yes,” he answers and smiles at her. “Just tired...”

“Go to bed, Harry,” she says softly.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

 

~Two~

“Mister Potter?”  
He wakes up in the hospital and has no idea how he got here. He looks around, but can't find anything except white walls and grey floors. Long corridors, the healer beside him. He rubs his eyes and gets up from the cheap plastic chair he was sleeping on. His back hurts, but he feels it in a distant way, like a ghost of the real pain. He stretches and looks around again. It looks too clean, so...dead. “Mister Potter?” the healer asks again. He looks a bit worried.

“Yes,” he answers and has still no idea how he got here or why he is here.

“You can see him now, but he is not responsive.”

“I understand,” he answers and feels like he really does. Feels like he knows exactly what is going on. It's like a word at the tip of your tongue, within reach and if you just tip it it will fall out. Everything is locked in his brain. He just needs to get to it.

~+~  
“Harry?” someone shakes him softly.

“I'm awake,” he answers. He feels disoriented for a second and then Ginny's face comes into focus as he rubs his eyes. She hands him his glasses. “Thank you,” he says, yawning. Even after he slept a while he still feels tired. And like he has to be somewhere. Somewhere that isn't here. He doesn't know where though. “I feel like...” he trails off, he has no idea how to finish that sentence.

“Are you okay?” she wants to know.  
He nods and wishes people would stop asking him that.

“Just tired,” he answers with a smile.

She looks sceptical and he can't blame her. “Are you sleeping enough?”

“Eight hours every night,” he says. It's the truth.

 

~Three~

“Mister. Mister!” a child's voice.

He rubs his eyes and looks around. The smell of roses again. But it's not the house. He still isn't sure this is a dream until he looks up and at the sky. The sky is liquid silver, moving like a snake, slowly, but restlessly. He is sitting on a bench, like he just fell asleep on it. He gets up and looks around. A park, nondescript, could be anywhere. Everywhere. He can't see any roses, but he can smell them. He turns in every direction. Trees, grass, something in the distance that could be a house, or was one once. It reminds him of Godric's Hollow after Voldemort got there. He looks away and at the child. A boy, somehow achingly familiar. He still can't remember.

“Yes?” he asks. The boy looks at the house and shivers. Harry suppresses his own shiver.

“Are you going there?” the boy asks, not looking away from the ruins. His gaze firmly set on it. Like there is something else to it than what Harry can see.

“Yes,” Harry hears himself say. He is sure of it, but he wasn't before the boy asked.

~+~  
“Harry. Mate! Wake up!”

Harry bats the hand on his shoulder away sleepily. His glasses hurt where he slept on them. He takes them off and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“I'm awake?” he says and can't help it that it sounds a bit like a question.

Ron gives him a look. “Ginny says you aren't sleeping well,” he answers, not looking at Harry. Harry knows what he is thinking, but it's not like that between him and Ginny, and Ron has to stop hoping it will change.

“Just weird dreams,” he says ignoring the rest. Ron lets it go.

“Wanna see a healer about it?”

“Nah...just dreams.”

“Maybe stuff is finally catching up with you,” Ron says.  
Maybe, but Harry really doesn't think so.

“Maybe,” he replies nevertheless.

 

~Four~

He turns around, his face buried deep in a cushion: it smells faintly like roses and underneath it like salt, sharp and exciting. He doesn't want to open his eyes. He feels warm and comfortable. He can feel the sun on his face and then a hand on his back. Fingers running down his spine, pausing at every vertebra to dig a finger in slightly. Just the way he likes it, just perfect. He is sure this is a dream. It can't be anything else.

“Wake up...” a voice says and he opens his eyes. The sky outside is the same liquid grey he saw already in one of his other dreams. He can't see the sun, but he can still feel it on his face.

“I'm awake...” he answers.

“You aren’t,” the voice says. He knows that voice. He knows that person, he knows...it's on the tip of his tongue...

“I am...”

~+~  
“What?” Luna asks. Her hair is tickling his neck. She is breathing down on him. Her breath smells like strawberries and something sharp. He shakes his head to clear it. “What are you, Harry?” she wants to know. Her voice sounds dreamy, a sharp contrast to the voice in his dream.

“Awake...” he answers.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

He turns and looks at her then. “Yes. Yes, I am...”  
She smiles, in this way of hers like she knows something he doesn't.

 

~Five~

The lips on the base of his neck. Soft, but somehow chapped. Too dry, like sandpaper. He feels something wet and realises a second later that it's blood.

“You made me bleed,” he says. It's just a whisper.

“Not the first time,” the voice answers. It sounds like liquid silver, like snakes tangled and content. He leans into the chilly hands, his head against the back of the couch he fell asleep on. He doesn't know how he knows that, but he knows that he is in the house, the ruins he saw from the park.

“I can't remember...” he says.

“Because you aren't awake,” the voice answers. He wants to turn around, but doesn't dare. He watches the torn curtains instead. They are fluttering in a breeze he can't feel on his skin. The lips kiss his already torn skin, he can smell the blood, can feel how it makes the chapped lips move smoother over his skin. From his neck, to his shoulder. Soft hair brushing and smearing his own blood on his skin. “What a mess....” the voice says and bites down gently.

~+~  
“Harry...” Neville's voice is soft like his hands on Harry's skin. He nearly turns around to press his lips against Neville's cheek.

“I'm awake,” he says and knows it sounds irritated. He doesn't want to be awake, he needs to go back. He needs to sleep. He needs to find out who he is with, what that person wants.

“Yes, you are,” Neville says and he realises that he phrased it as a question, an angry question, but still a question. Neville doesn't give him weird looks, he is considering. Harry knows that look.

“What?”

“What are you dreaming about?”

“I don't know,” he answers, running his hand trough his already messy hair. It's the truth after all.  
Neville nods.

 

~Six~

He can see scorch marks in the corners. Like spells gone wrong. He suppresses a shiver. It feels a bit too close to home. The shadows the setting sun is painting are forming silhouettes he can’t really make out.  
There is the smell of roses again. Still he can't see them.

“Outside the window...in the garden,” the voice says from a dark corner. He didn't see anything beyond shadows.

“This is your castle...” Harry answers.

“But when you wake me up, it all crumples to dust,” the voice says and Harry nods.

~+~  
“Harry!” Dean's voice in his ear. He looks up from the tabletop and at Dean. “I think you have had enough...I'll call a taxi,” Dean ads with a grin.

“Good idea....” Harry answers. This has to stop or...or something else. If he's honest, he doesn't want it to stop. He just wants to find that person, that house. That castle. That prison.

 

~Seven~

“You made me bleed as well,” the voice says. It's hot and sharp against his back. A pant between his shoulder-blades. He can feel the sweat run down his skin. Cool fingers splayed over his heart. The other hand digging into his hip, keeping him in place. The sheets soft and crisp under him, bunched between his fingers. The heat, delicious torturous friction.

“I don't want to wake up,” he pants. His orgasm building up with every thrust.

“You can't stay here,” the voice says. A sharp kiss to his shoulder and he comes. His knuckles are white when he looks down at them. He bit his lip bloody. He can taste it on his tongue. It tastes a bit like desperation. As the hand over his heart makes to pull away, he grabs it. It makes the other man lose his balance. Makes him fall heavy beside him. He sees a rush of light against the white sheets.  
Touches his fingers to the pale skin.

“I knew...” he whispers.

“Come and find me, Potter,” Malfoy answers.

~+~  
He wakes to his alarm and he is glad for it, because he came in his boxers like a teenager.

“Fuck,” he say, closing his eyes against the sun. The real sun, soft and golden and warm. In a perfectly normal blue sky. Just outside the window. Everything perfectly normal. Safe.  
His skin is still tingling with Malfoy's touch.  
An open invitation.

~end~


End file.
